


in the case of the harvest moon

by Makimii



Series: A Story Told in Crimson Red [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dubious Morality, Human/Monster Society, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, New York City, breaking the law (like constantly breaking the law), but that's ok, he's allowed to be because he's literally undead, ten is kind of a sad nihilist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-01-26 09:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makimii/pseuds/Makimii
Summary: ๏𝑨 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝑻𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒅 | NCT vampire AU๏part 1.“We can't stay under the harvest moon for much longer, my dear. The risk runs all too high.”Ten's been around as much as he could in his two centuries’s worth of undead living. But as he begins to assimilate into the chaos of the vast, elusive New York City streets, he discovers three seemingly unrelated things which change the course of his life for good: the city’s secretive vampire underground system, a slowly-growing streak of unorganized crime, and an intriguing little quirk about his coworker, Lee Taeyong.
Relationships: + more mystery ships!!, Lee Taeyong/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Series: A Story Told in Crimson Red [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540747
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. creature comforts

Ten hadn’t expected to greet Autumn with such an unflattering attitude. But against all odds, he still carries it like plague. It ate at him as he aimlessly wandered through the airport and past hordes of people, or as he sat in the back of the taxi, bag clutched in his hand until his knuckles went white, watching rain scatter against the window. He even feels it scorch the recesses of his mind as he stands in front of his new shared apartment, hungry and horny and at peak infectious levels. His teeth ache, his head hurts. He longs for the taste of healthy food, or at the very least a good pint or so of AB positive.

_Half-day long plane rides get to people like that sometimes, though,_ he contemplates, twirling his key ring in his gloved hand and rolling his shoulders back. He shoves his phone into his coat pocket and unlocks the door. 

Peeking in, he sees a dark living room, thick blankets and puffy throw pillows strewn across the couch near a TV stand already decorated in Halloween decorations, tiny potted plants, and glass-jar candles. The two parakeets his new flatmate had constantly talked about sit in their cage near the window, bathing in the light of the cloud-covered skies and sweetly chirping to each other. The boy had only gotten there a good three days ago, from what Ten knows; he's a little shocked by how well-lived the area looks already. 

The overhead lights were on in the kitchen, shining in a bright amber beam from the entrance—he hears the faint clink of a glass being set down on a counter, then the splash of liquid being poured into it. 

“Hello?” Ten calls out, trying to make his presence known. 

“Ah!” The voice is sharp and mature and warmly familiar, yet very low for the surprise that tinges it. The boy bustles around the kitchen for a few seconds, slamming the refrigerator shut and turning on another light. Then, he bounds into the living room and pulls Ten into a hug with a big stupid smile on his face, scrunching up his nose like he was a grinning puppy. “Hi! Welcome to the city! W-welcome home!”

“It’s nice to finally see you, Yukhei,” Ten greets, deeming it too cold-hearted to not smile back. 

“It’s nice to see you, too. I mean, it’s about time, huh?” Ten gives him an agreeing nod—after all, Yukhei and his friend Kunhang had been Ten’s Mandarin tutors while he was living in Shanghai, and the three formed a strong friendship through that. Now that he’s joined them in New York, maybe they could grow even closer. Maybe Ten could finally tell his secrets to someone who wasn’t his invisible reflection.

Maybe Ten _is,_ in fact, a little lonely, like Kunhang once told him during a one-on-one call.

“Want a drink?”

Ten laughs at him. “At 4 in the afternoon? Agh, you fiend. Why not.”

☽☆☽

“Before now, I really wouldn’t’ve considered you to be a wine person,” Ten thinks out loud, trying his absolute best to small-talk as the two sit at the kitchen island, sipping on a sweet, high-quality wine while scarfing down prepackaged chocolate chip cookies. Something about the sugar or the alcohol—or possibly both—made the ache that had spread about his face die down well enough.

“What did you think I was?” Yukhei asks, genuine surprise showing in his wide eyes.

“I don’t know. Maybe more mixed drinks and beers. Or, the one who orders a Sprite at the bar because they chose to be the designated driver for all their friends.” Ten feels a little warmth bloom in his heart as the boy laughs, having to set his glass down for a second as he puts his head in his hand. 

“It makes sense, but… one day I’ll chug a whole bottle of rosé to prove myself for you.” He takes a small sip from his glass, then licks a crimson tint off from his top lip. Ten nearly does a double-take. 

_Blood orange._ He takes a sip from his own glass, wipes at the corner of his mouth, and glances down to see a purplish tone on the back of his hand, the same cool tone of the wine in both their glasses. He glues his eyes to the marble countertop, trying to manually slow his rising heartbeat and rationalize it as a trick of the light. 

Light can do that sometimes, right?

“Did you get a job ‘round here yet?”

“Oh—yeah.” Ten’s voice wavers just enough to raise his nerves even more. He watches as Yukhei nibbles on a cookie, still giving Ten an intent look. “It’s just an office job for the international analysis company that, you know, made me move to Shanghai in the first place. I've been having fun moving around like this, though. It hasn’t bothered me.”

“I'd be surprised if you don't get more money. You deserve it—I mean, it's like you're traveling the world at this point.”

“Don't worry, I'll get more. I was promised that much. I wouldn't move around for nothing, anyways.” Yukhei gives him a contemplative nod. “How are you and Kunhang doing in your classes?”

Ten had barely remembered what classes the two were taking, but Yukhei reminds him without missing a beat: “Ah! I'm working on a themed set of designs with this boy, Jungwoo—he's wonderful, he wears stuff that he actually designed himself sometimes, and they all look so sweet and comfortable on him. I'm really lucky I got him as my partner. And Kunhang’s composing a classical sort of piece with Sicheng—I’m pretty sure you’d remember him. He plays the cello now, so he's writing this whole fancy-ass cello part for it.” 

“Ah-h, right. Sicheng.” Ten knew Sicheng from the absolute panic the kid made run through his veins on a Skype call, where he decided to quiz Ten on almost every word he hadn't fully learned yet, then challenged him to a jazz piano competition for whenever they would ultimately meet. Ten is, rightfully, a little scared of him—but that isn’t surprising. Some humans are just a little too intense for his liking.

“The guy’s still as much of an overachiever as he always was, I see.” Yukhei nods. “That's not surprising. Is our piano brawl still standing?”

“Agh. Yes. Whenever we bring you up, he doesn't stop talking about it,” Yukhei laughs in reply. “I'm not sure if you'll be ready to take him on, though. He's pretty hardcore.” 

“It’ll still be worth the try. Might as well start off my time in the city right, make a new close friend, you know?”

“Pfft. Don't worry about that. You’ll make friends in no time, knowing you.” Yukhei downs the rest of his wine and sets the glass down on the table, reaching over it for another cookie. The small remainder of plum-purple liquid pooling in the bottom of the glass is encircled by a thin rim of what just nearly looks to be blood. Ten immediately looks away, trying not to think too hard about it. 

“I think I’ll start unpacking, unless you need my help with anything,” he speaks into the lip of his glass, breathing in the heavy scent and hoping that it would cloud his thoughts better than the sweet, alcoholic taste lingering on his tongue.

“Oh!” Yukhei nearly chokes on the bite of cookie; he holds up a finger, waits until he stops coughing, and goes back to talking: “No, no, you don’t have to worry ‘bout anything until you’re all set up. We’ll make a cleaning duty schedule later on, figure out everything, get a good routine.”

“Wow, like _real_ flatmates.” Yukhei nods again with a little extra sparkle of excitement in his eyes.

“It’s pretty refreshing, huh.”

Ten gives him a curious look. “Refreshing? Why’s that?”

“Well, I’m finally gonna get the chance to room with someone I feel comfortable with, this time around.” Ten nearly feels unworthy of the boy’s toothy grin. “Go get yourself settled in—oh, and tell me if you need any help.”

☽☆☽

Ten used to be pretty proficient in French. _Used to be_, though—that became more and more glaring as he read over a yellowed parchment letter from his old friend, one that was now long dead, resting as bones and rotted flesh at the bottom of a grave. The handwriting, flowery and tilted forwards in reckless abandon, echoes a strange form of wistfulness, the same hollow feeling as the one he had felt after reading the letter the day after her death. As for the words themselves, though, Ten can only base his translation off of faint memory:

_…But the boy is young, around ten or eleven. I found him while on a boat traveling down the Seine, sitting in the back of the vessel and waiting patiently, barely acting anything like his age. His skin was rather sickly (and still is at this very moment), and cuts ravaged the back of his neck, staining his shirt with blood. He talks about falling into a river and being thrown back onto the shore, perfectly dry yet hungry beyond cure. If you are able to travel back to Paris, do so as soon as you can. I believe that he is in dire need of help…_

Ten had always been the most interested by that lone paragraph; yet, even more interesting were the events that followed his arrival, when the boy disappeared three months later, still nameless, still helpless, and still starving. 

_What a child he was,_ he thinks dryly as he folds the paper along the deep creases and lays it back into its resting place, then closes the box and sets it back onto the floor of his suitcase. He looks around at the compact room. Somehow, the giant windows facing the lavender sky makes the space seem bigger; dusk light cascades in from them, brushing against Ten’s face like the warmth of a fireplace against his skin and painting the cherrywood flooring a purplish hue. The silver buildings ahead, framed within a honey-gold filter, glimmer in the pale yellow light of the sun dipping under the skyline. 

He can’t help but wonder why Yukhei gave him the room with such a beautiful view. Either it was out of sheer stupidity or absolute selflessness; or, most likely, it was a healthy mixture of both.

Either way, almost half of his little box of trinkets and decorations have found their places on the shelves and the surfaces of his dresser, and the cushy bed is nestled cozily under layers of blankets and throws. The bare remainder of yet another glass of wine sits on the stool he had decided to use as his nightstand, alongside a tiny crassula plant and an equally small vase filled with fairy lights. Above the dresser mirror, posters alongside postcards and polaroids of old friends are taped onto the sandy brown wall. There’s something childish about it all; for that reason, Ten loves it beyond words.

Yukhei taps on the ajar door, then swings it open without any real permission—perhaps, Ten immediately begins thinking, the sign of boundary issues that he would have to work his way around—and pokes his head inside. 

“Everything okay?” the boy asks, letting his gaze drift across the room, his expression just as sweet and amicable as it was before.

“Of course it is,” Ten says back. The grin on Yukhei’s face reaches peak radiance. “Thank you for giving me the chance to stay here with you.”

“I couldn’t have done anything else.” He leans his shoulder back against the doorframe, his hands slack at his sides as he squints at the epicenter of the quickly-fading golden light. “Besides, me and Kunhang wouldn’t have been able to afford this place, probably. Customer service doesn’t really give anything much. If you weren’t here, I probably would’ve ended up at whatever mess Kunhang is staying in now.”

“Ah, it’s really that bad, huh?”

“Oh, nah, not bad, just… his flatmates are _wack._”

"Wack," Ten snorts.

"Ah, yeah, wack, wacker than me, it's scary." Ten can see a new thought pop into Yukhei's head. "I know it's not that late, but you should probably sleep soon, what with all that crazy time zone stuff. I don't know how you haven't passed out already, actually."

Ten gives him a laugh and falls back across the bed, feeling the fuzzy throw blanket tickle the back of his neck. "I don't know either. But, I guess I should."

"Absolutely," Yukhei insists—even though it wasn't the most demanding voice. It sounded more like a hopeful plea than a strong reinforcement. "Sleep well."

Ten grins back. "You too, Xuxi."

Satisfied, Yuhei closes the door behind him and retreats into the short hallway, padding back into the kitchen with light footsteps. Ten turns away from the windows, looking at the pillows and headboard and blank wall. Maybe he could find something to fill that space up—he ponders the idea, then lets his mind wander as tiredness tugs at his limbs, slowing the steady tapping of his feet dangling off the bedside. 

_Maybe it was a hallucination, the color in that glass,_ Ten resolves after a few minutes of thinking, finally settling the nerves circling about in his brain. _Like cravings catching up to me. It’s all alright. I have nothing to worry about._


	2. all according to plan

There's something sleek and modern about the lobby's interior—glass doors with tall silver handles, cushioned grey-leather seats and heavy-looking marble planters filled with big leafy plants, a tall ceiling with a big hanging light at its center. The people passing by or waiting at tables or seats all look either unreasonably pretty or unreasonably pretentious, wearing cozy woolen coats and neatly-pressed dress shirts or blouses as they checked their phones or typed away at laptops. Ten had never felt more underdressed in his life—he stuck out more than he usually did as he wandered over to the reception desk underneath the hanging light, hoping for any sort of direction.

“Hello,” the boy sitting at the desk greets, barely looking up from the laptop on his desk—the name _Hyunjoon_ is inscribed in blocky, black lettering onto the nametag pinned on his cashmere sweater. He looks almost _too_ young to be wasting away in an office like he probably is. His eyes and cheeks are perfectly rounded and cute in the way that even a very select few young teens can manage to achieve, and his hair looks almost too messy to be anything close to formal, yet he still speaks with a mature, business-tone voice: “What can I help you with?”

Ten rests his elbows onto the tall tabletop. “Hi! I’m the new employee for the marketing section. I was supposed to meet with Taeil Moon this morning for a run-down.”

“Ah-h, I see, okay.” Hyunjoon gives a few shallow nods, putting an even more pleasant look on his face. He taps away at the computer for a little while. “Chittaphon?” 

He gives an affirmative nod. “You can call me Ten, if you’d want.”

“Ah. Okay. I’ll call Mr. Moon now, you'll just have to wait a few minutes. Welcome to the New York office.”

“Thanks, sir.” Hyunjoon smiles and takes a form from off the top of a pile of papers, then slides a pen on top of it. 

“This is just for the databases, clocking in and out and things like that. Mr. Moon will give you the information on the bottom—when you have the time, bring the form back to me and I'll put you into the system.” 

Ten thanks him again, retreats to one of the stiff couches in the waiting area, and starts filling out all the basic information—name, phone number, email, address—then stops at _Age._ He thinks back to the date on the last forged birth certificate he bought, looks around at the nearly empty waiting area and the work-engrossed Hyunjoon, and pulls down the cuff of his shirt to do the math on his wrist. The difference comes to 25. He writes it down, then puts the birthdate on the line next to it, biting his lip so his smile wouldn't show. Things like that always made him feel a little rebellious, even if it was for survival. The little rush of excitement was a normal yet very welcome occurrence. 

After a few minutes, Hyunjoon calls him over again. “The marketing office is on the seventh floor. The elevators are just over there—“ the boy points to the glass door in the center of the wall behind him, leading out into a shallow hall sided by dark wood doors— “and the stairs are right next to it—though it's a pretty long climb. Some people do it, though, ha-ha. When you get out of the lift, turn left, go to the windows and turn right, and Moon’s office will be at the end of the hall. If you can't find it, just ask anyone around the cubicles. Is that good?”

“That's good, yes.”

“Alright! Cool. Good luck, even though you probably won't need it. Mr. Moon is pretty cool, from what I know. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

With a quick wave, another thank-you and a “Nice to meet you,” Ten slips through the glass door. Hyunjoon left almost the same feeling as Sicheng did—almost mind-dizzyingly intense, even with such a small interaction. _Maybe it's just the city’s effect on its people,_ he thinks, watching a few older women dart out of the elevator before stepping in himself and selecting the seventh floor button. _Or, maybe I've been too closed off to see it in anyone else._

☽☆☽

“I’m pretty sure that there’s not too many differences between the systems here and in the Shanghai office,” Mr. Moon explains, beckoning for Ten to look at his computer screen before clicking around and logging in. He seems nice enough—he's been playing a lo-fi stream ever since Ten entered the tiny office room, and his smile fits well with the soft beats and quirky sound effects of the music. He adjusts the cuffs of his jacket or the chain of his delicate silver necklace every once in a while; his houndstooth-patterned coat is draped over the back of his chair, and the matching hat sits on a pile of books on the corner of his long wooden desk. Ten imagines that most acquaintances would call him and his office space _cozy_ if they were asked to describe it all in one word. 

“Just… simple e-mail log, message chat system, it’s easy to get the hang of either way. The only issue is some of the data software we use. I don’t think we have the same systems here—and I believe that ours is a little older than the one used in the East Asia offices. But, we tend to work in teams for efficiency, so you’ll be able to learn pretty quick, get used to the slowness and everything. And, no matter what, you’ll be around some pretty great people—and I’ll always be here to help, as well—so there’s no need to worry.”

“Okay. Thank you for the help, Mr.”

Moon gives him a squeaky little laugh. “Ah! Don’t be so formal with me, either. I’d much rather be called Taeil. Us, uh, zoomers in the marketing section really don’t fare well with formalities.” The joke wasn’t all that funny, but Ten can’t help himself from laughing at the cheesy look on Taeil’s face. “Anyways, anyways, you’re going to be working in Jaehyun Jung’s section—his cubicle is the first one you’ll see on the right-hand side when you turn left. I really would love to give you everything you need to know here, but you got to our building just in time for meeting season and I have a lot of phone calls to attend to pretty soon. He’s a very good teacher, though, and I’m sure that you’ll all get along well.”

“You’re _sure_ sure?” Ten prods, trying to match up to his boss’ jokes. 

Taeil grins at him. “_Sure sure._ My door is always open if I’m available. Just walk on by if you have any questions.”

“Ah. Okay. Thank you so much, Mr. Taeil.”

“Pfft—“ Taeil covers his mouth with a hand as he starts snickering. “Was that on purpose or on accident?” Ten just shrugs, trying to hide a smile. “Aw, I knew it, that was too good to be a mistake. Do it again and I’ll replace the good pens on your desk with the horrible company-branded ones.”

“Oh-h,” Ten laughs, “my worst nightmare.”

“Mine too! I’d also advise you now to bring in as much stationary as you want, because all of ours suck.” Taeil rightens up even more in his seat as the desk phone lets out a loud _br-ring_ that cuts through the laughter and the pretty music playing in the background. “Oh! Speaking of calls, ha-ha. Go on ahead and find Jaehyun, I’ll check up on you as soon as I can, okay?”

“That’s fine by me, Mr. Taeil.” Taeil snorts at him again, watching as he grabs up his bag from the ground and gets up from the chair in front of the desk. “Have a good morning.”

Taeil waves at him and mouths an enthusiastic “You too!” as he picks up the phone. 

Ten slips out of the door as soon as the call dives headfirst into company matters, turning left onto a wood-floored, mauve-colored hallway basking under fluorescent lighting and walking until he spots cubicles sitting under the shimmering light of late morning. The bright blue sky pours sunlight onto the tiny desks and office chairs and the small group of people huddled together, drinking coffee near the tall-paneled wall of windows. Ten immediately knows that he’ll have to differentiate them by hair color for now—one silver-blond, one rose gold, one pastel purple, one reddish brown, one jet black. 

He peeks at the name-card tacked onto the wall of the very first wall of around 5 or so short rows of cubicles. _Jung, Jaehyun,_ the glossy laminated paper reads, and he stands there looking around and waiting for the real Jaehyun to arrive until the clan of people by the windows notices him. 

“Ah-h!” The blond sitting on the window ledge calls out with an already blatantly obvious British twinge to his voice. He leaps up from the ledge, brushing messy strands of bleach-fried hair out from his strong-featured face and adjusting the collar of his tan blazer. “Chittaphon!”

“That’s me!” Ten shoots a finger gun at the man before realizing how stupid it probably made him look. "Oh, ew, I'm sorry." The little rose-haired boy leaning against the windows snorts and puts his head in his palm.

“S'okay. You were probably looking for me, though,” the blond tells him, laughter edging his voice as he beckons Ten over. “C’mon, we got lattes. Y'know, special occasion stuff.”

Ten shrugs and trots past the cubicles, giving Jaehyun a handshake before trying to find a good spot to stand. He decides to lean up against the cubicle walls. The black-haired man next to him gives a gentle smile, but the kindness doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s twice Ten’s height and twenty times as intimidating. Ten nervously grins back, and the man laughs, putting his hands in his pant pockets and leaning more towards the brunette. 

“So, this is all of you guys?” he asks instead, bringing his attention back to Jaehyun. 

“Well, this is most of our east window squad,” Jaehyun explains. Although it might just be the accent, there’s something very mature and cosmopolitan about the platinum-haired boy. Maybe it was his sleek clothing, or his tall, near-perfect posture that gave it away. “We're the top-tier fellows. Just us six, plus Yeri when her meeting ends and Sunwoo when he gets back from his family vacation in Busan. Oh-h—_that’s_ when you’ll probably start regretting your position.” 

Everyone else struggles to hide their laughter, but Jaehyun just continues on with his explanation as he grabs the last latte from the cardboard cupholder left on the window-ledge and hands it to Ten. “Here you go, mate. Welcome to Team Northeast.”

☽☆☽

Their names flew by, nearly faster than Ten could keep up with them: Johnny is the suit-wearing gentle giant that Ten would probably recognize more for his height than his hair color; Mark’s the brunette with hollow cheeks, glasses with thick lenses that each spanned about a quarter of his face, and a big fuzzy coat always thrown over his shoulders; the rosy boy with an even thicker Australian accent than Jaehyun’s British one and an awkward grin on his face at all times is named Felix; and the pretty, near-silent man with purple hair is Taeyong.

Taeyong is, by far, Ten’s favorite of the bunch, judging from his calmness. And as the clamor of Team Northeast’s morning conversation grew louder and more vibrant, he slowly found himself inching closer to his purple-haired teammate. 

“Hello,” Ten starts off the conversation awkwardly, trying to reel Taeyong back into reality as the man watches the streets below the seventh-floor offices. He nearly jumps at the interaction, quickly turning his head to face Ten. 

“Ah! Ten! Hi,” he laughs. His nails tap against the side of his empty coffee cup as he talks—he has a bit of an accent too, just enough to muss up the _r_ and _f_ sounds and round out the edges of his low-toned voice. “It’s really nice to meet you. Has New York been good for you so far?”

“It has, yeah. I’ve always been a sucker for a good big city, though. But I haven’t been here until now.” Taeyong gives him a surprised look. “Yeah, it’s... kinda crazy, now that I think of it. But I’ve lived in Eurasia my whole life.”

“That’s interesting.” The man starts chewing on the red plastic stirring rod sticking out of his cup. “What made you move?”

“To put it bluntly, money.” Taeyong lets out a little giggle. “I worked in the Shanghai office for maybe three years, but I have a better opportunity and pay here, and I didn’t have much to lose there. So, here I am.” 

“Hm.” The look on the man’s face, the little bit of curiosity and confusion on it, made Ten a little nervous—or, maybe it was just the interaction in general. New, intriguing people always made him a bit nervous, and Taeyong was certainly not an exception. “Jaehyun told me that we’re working next to each other. I think he just wants me to talk more,” he jokes with a smile.

“He seems like the type of person to do that. But, we’ll do well together, I hope?” Taeyong nods. “Or maybe someday we’ll be like the kids put on opposite sides of a classroom because we can't stop talking to each other.”

“Jae’s the type of person to do that, too,” Taeyong chuckles. His smile is cute, Ten notices—it’s small and sweet and it puts little smile lines at the corners of his eyes. “Do you think we should get to work? This week is pretty slow, but I can try and show you our project so we can get a head start today.”

“That would be perfect.”

"Okay, then! Let’s see what we can do." Taeyong takes the lead, strolling down the pathway by the windows and changing the subject of their conversation to a news story about something happening somewhere in the rainforests. Ten feels an ache at his temples, then notices a little dull throb in his teeth. He slows his pace and closes his eyes for a moment, trying to help his senses from overflowing before realizing it wasn't exactly the lights or the human interaction. It was the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood from the humans he had met leaving him light-headed. 

_Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me._

"...But the _frogs,_ they rely on that plant as a food source, and if it goes extinct then we'd lose their whole population!..."

He shakes his head out and continues on with following Taeyong and his rambling through the cubicles, telling himself that it's one of many little headaches that he'd just have to endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yo if i dont update this fic in like,, 20 days you are legally allowed to tell me to update, dont let me slack off hehe
> 
> stay tuned for more fun vampire hours wooo : )


	3. wary days bleed into wary nights

Mid-Autumn dusks unabashedly throw themselves onto the city in pink, sunset-tinted highlights painted fresh onto the sides of buildings and exhales coming up in opaque puffs against the chilly air. The wind even left its biting effects on Ten's face, yet somehow, the people persisted, still crowding up the windy streets of Broadway with red cheeks and warm coats. Judging from the brisk winters in Shanghai, Ten expected that they wouldn't even dare to clear out when the temperatures reached freezing.

Cold weather didn't bother vampires all that much, though, as he had learned from his years of experience. It made him wonder just how many of his kind had found their roles within the streets.

But that's all mindless speculation. More important is the thumping noises from outside the apartment door, like someone breathlessly running up the staircase. Ten watches the entrance, simmering pot of leftover ramen still in hand, as Yukhei bursts in, fairly disheveled and slightly frantic. 

“Are you alright?” he asks the boy.

“Yes!” Yukhei’s voice is pitchy, almost breathless in a way. “Me and Jungwoo were working on conceptualizations, and his flatmate started making dinner and they wanted me to stay and eat with them.“ Ten nods to himself, laughing. Every one of Yukhei’s days in the past week they’ve lived together was packed with activity, but each time the occasions brought him home past dinnertime he's acted as if it's the end of the world. 

“Was it good, at least?”

“_Fuck_ yeah it was,” the boy answers, babbling on as he trots into the kitchen and grabs a glass from the cabinet. “He’s literally the best cook in the whole college, no doubt. And I say that when I know Yangyang makes some _mean_ tex-mex.”

“Yangyang? Wait, hold on, who’s he again?”

Yukhei stops in his tracks. “Oh-h! I never talked about him, I think. That's one of Kunhang’s roomies. Him, Eric, Chenle, all the enigmas. It's like a sitcom.”

“Wow, I would've thought that Kunhang would be with Sicheng.”

“Oh, no. Chengie didn't want to deal with that mess, either. He's with...” Yukhei thinks for a second, then starts laughing to himself. He spins back and opens the fridge to pour himself some water, still chuckling at himself. ”Crap, I can't remember.” He downs his half-filled glass in a good five seconds. 

“How was work? Busy?”

“It’s never busy,” Ten chuckles—it was the second time that week he had to tell the boy that—and he slides into a seat at the island, grabbing chopsticks from the drawer to slosh around in his ramen until the conversation came to a close. An awkward close, too, according to his presumptions. "Taeil’s better at his job than I can even describe.”

“How’s everyone else doing, though?”

“Ah! Taeyong was tired today, he barely spoke to anyone. Sunwoo kept making fun of me—but I deserved it. I deleted half of a draft by accident and for some reason the software doesn't have an undo button.” Yukhei nods along as he sets the glass in the sink and leans his elbows onto the island. “Jaehyun kept talking about his anniversary—and honestly, learning he's taken was the biggest surprise this week—“

“Anniversary, aw-w!” Yukhei interrupts, his eyes lighting up at even the mention of love like the hopeless romantic he is. “How many years?”

“Just one. And for his _boyfriend,_ too, not even a husband—plus it’s, like, our coworker Johnny, too, which I think is pretty weird, personally. I don’t know why you’d ever want to hook up with a coworker.” He heard Yukhei mutter something to himself. “Hmm?”

“Oh. I mean, I was thinking, but it’s dumb because there’s a fuck-ton of people named Johnny, but… Johnny Seo?”

Ten shrugs. “That’s it, I think. Why, you know him?”

“I did say it’s stupid. But... he’s a friend from my freshman year. We kept in touch. He got a boyfriend around this time last year, so I’m just assuming..?”

“Ah, you never know. I might ask him about that.” An idea strikes him—probably not a good one for his sleep schedule’s sake, but there was still time to waste. “Hey, we have a few hours until I have to sleep, so d’you want to watch a movie? Your choice.”

“Ooh! Sure.” Yukhei’s eyes light up; he trots back to the cabinet to grab a popcorn bag and slam it into the microwave. “I haven’t watched a Disney movie in, like, months. How about Aladdin?”

It feels weird to think that he could remember the release of that movie like it was yesterday. He recalls, faintly, sneaking into one of the abandoned back rooms of a shoddy theater in Glasgow after the film ended, some fair-skinned, freckled punk with firey red hair in tow, and making out in there until the kid felt Ten’s fangs almost slice his tongue into near-perfect thirds. It’s safe to say that Ten is a little nervous with human interactions because of that. It’s also a good explanation as to why he prefers to curl himself up into a tiny ball on the couch, sinking into the armrest on the right-hand side, when Yukhei sits down next to him.

But Ten’s in no rush to change that. He’s got all the time in the world.

“Like I said, your choice.” Yukhei’s grin eats up any of the old nervousness that was left in his expression. 

“This is great! I know I don’t have a lot of time to hang out,” the boy continues talking as popcorn starts puffing up the bag, “but this is a good chance. I really missed our movie nights!”

“Yeah, like last year when you kept me up until 2 watching that shitty 80’s movie with the most disgusting-looking CGI ever known to man?”

Yukhei gives him a big huff. “I didn’t know it was that late for you. And come on, The Lost Boys is a _classic!_ Me and my dad used to watch it all the time together!”

“Oh my god, did you get nightmares from it?” Yukhei thinks for a good second, then nods. Ten can’t even try to help himself from laughing.

“_Lis_-ten, I was five!” Yukhei protests. “It’s stupid now, but I didn’t know any better.”

“Fine, fine. I’m gonna go find Aladdin—also, I got that one fancy hot chocolate mix I told you about, if you want any.” Yukhei gives a little _ooh_ and starts scouring through the cabinets in search of it. “Don’t burn the popcorn.”

“Pft, I won't. And you have ramen, anyways. You’re not gonna want any.”

“Agh. Xuxi, let me care for your well-being, _god_.” Yukhei starts snickering to himself, and Ten takes his food and makes his way to the couch, curling up into his usual ball, setting the bowl of ramen in his lap, and taking the remote from the arm of the couch. Some sort of warmth—maybe physically from the ramen, maybe metaphorically from the time spent with Yukhei—had been growing in his chest, and somehow, magically, his headache is paring away. That’s, in a sense, the prize of finding someone to be comfortable with. Less headaches, less nervousness. Maybe he was right—one day, and one day soon, every last remnat of the barrier between them would be gone and Yukhei would know everything about him. It seems fated to happen.

☽☆☽

At some point in the movie, Aladdin is asking Princess Jasmine if she trusts him enough to put her life in his hands and take a leap off the side of a building. Yukhei is sprawled out comfortably, yet he still has his shoulder squished against the side of the couch; glasses on, fluffy brown hair tied back, hot cocoa in his hands. And Ten is sitting on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, biting back whimpers as pangs the strength of a bullet hitting nerves strike his chest. Since when did he get sick off of human food? Was it even possible? He didn’t eat that much of it. There wasn’t even that much garlic in there, from what he knew.

Centuries of living and he hasn’t learned shit about life. Maybe that would come to bite him someday.

He presses his hand to the ground and watches his entire arm tremble for a second before steadily pushing himself up, clutching to the countertop of the sink as another pang lands a blow on him. 

“Fuck, fuck, f—” His hands slide out from under him; his chin slams against the granite. He bites down an anxious yelp.

Water hits the backside of his hand as he turns on the faucet. He brings it up to his face, the coldness striking against the warmth dusting redness onto his cheeks. It feels nice at the very least. He cups his hand under the water again and hurriedly brings it up to his forehead, desperately soaking up the refreshing feeling of it. Was splashing himself with water going to do anything except make a mess on the counter? If he believed in placebos and miracles, maybe it would.

He looks up at the mirror, just to make it all worse. The mirror in the bathroom, like every other American mirror he had the joy of stumbling upon, just nearly makes him opaque in its reflection—Ten can’t exactly say how much of a good thing that is anymore as he stares his own tired, half-open eyes down, looking more dead than alive, watching the cold water stream down his flushed face and roll off the strands of hair blocking his forehead. He breaks eye contact for a moment, just to duck his head down and cough into the sink, before glancing up and losing his balance and propelling his head straight into the mirror.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself, trying to laugh himself through it. He repeats it again, and once more for good measure. His headache flares back up, painful and throbbing and unrelenting. He rights himself and reaches to grab his towel from the rack before locking his gaze onto the slowly-fading stain of pink spattered against the porcelain, intermingling with the water and swirling down the drain.

He freezes, hands shaking even more than they were before, and wipes the ball of his hand against his front teeth. A metallic, salty taste, painfully, deliriously delicious in such a small dose, just barely tinges the tip of his tongue. His wrist is covered in red when he pulls it away--there, his condition finally rears its head in all its malicious glory. Blood, spit, and water droplets, streaming down his forearm and seeping into the rim of his sleeve. 

☽☆☽

“How did you get yourself into doing this?” Ten asks with almost too flat of a tone to his voice before going back to lapping at the wound on the alleyway donor’s forearm.

“Hey. I’ve got three other customers tonight, don’t be greedy,” Kai—a tall guy with something over 10 piercings and just as artificial of a name as his sea-blue hair or his violently amber contacts—scowls as he yanks his arm away. He takes a bottle of something almost medical-grade from his bag and squeezes some of the solution onto a cotton pad, answering Ten’s question as he rubs it roughly against the bite without even flinching: “I don’t have much else to do with myself. This pays bills. And it pays them well.”

“I want to say you’re exploiting us, but—“

“Supply and demand. But don’t think about it too hard, bud, you already got what you needed. Are you feeling better?”

The concern in his voice sends Ten's brain reeling. “Huh?” he sputters.

“Well, you came here after telling me you nearly conked the fuck out in a bathroom, I need to know if you're okay.”

“I-I guess? I don’t feel like dogshit anymore..?”

Kai sighs. “Good enough.” He replaces the bottle in his hand with a roll of gauze and starts wrapping it around his arm. “You barely look healthy. How long has it been since you had blood?”

“China and southern Europe don’t have great relations with vampires, and, that’s where I’ve been for a _while_, so… maybe a good 9 years.”

“You’re kidding me.” Kai’s eyes were wide. Ten gives him a modest shrug. “How are you still alive?”

“Fuck if I know! I’ve been on a suicide mission through every city I could get my hands on an apartment in since, like, 1973.”

“If I was forced to live forever I’d be doing the exact same thing.”

“Exactly! But, in all honesty, rare meat helped a lot, with cravings and stuff.” Kai raises a slitted eyebrow at that. “That was probably the only thing keeping me from wasting away.”

“Oh. I’ll keep that in mind, then. I know how many of my customers are losing money, buying services and shit.”

“Don’t you _want_ their money, though?” Ten gawks.

“I really don't like making anyone pay unless they know all the alternatives. At least, the ones I know of. I’m not the type of person to follow after shit I see in the shadows.” He pulls two bags of pretzels from the front pouch of his bag, which, from the looks of it, was still brimming with snack bags and other foods. He pops one open and holds the other one up to Ten. 

“No, I’m okay—“ 

“Take it,” Kai orders, shaking a few tiny pretzel twists into his mouth and speaking through them. “Oral blood transfusion does some wacky shit if you haven’t done it in a while.”

“Ah. That's wonderful," Ten grimaces. Kai nods in agreement. “But thank you. I haven’t really gotten the chance to talk to anyone about supernatural issues in a long time.”

“It’s a part of the job,” Kai brushes it off, pride showing in his eyes. “I’m glad to know I was able to help. But, another customer should be here in a few minutes, so it’s best for you to get going. Take care of yourself, be wary about similar topics around any friends, try your best to not let any deprivation symptoms get too out of hand—and if the cops see you tonight, _please_ don't make it look like you just got dealt drugs. I go through enough trouble out here.” 

“I’ll try my best,” Ten grins, wiping the corner of his mouth just in case there was anything smudged onto it. 

Kai gives him a wary glare. “Other side,” he tells Ten. Ten nods, brushes at the other side of his mouth, and looks back up at Kai. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

Kai smiles at him. “You too. Be careful, stay healthy.”

Ten thanks him again and jogs out of the alley, swearing that he could feel Kai’s stare following him until he turned the corner.

☽☆☽

_"Good morning."_

_A small grunt, a shuffle of bedsheets._

_The air smells like raspberries and eucalyptus and the telltale tinge of blood left to dry out for too long. Sun blindingly crashes in through cracks between the drapes and peers dimly through its light grey threads, an inescapable homeliness in the absolute worst of places. The boy turns and faces the vampire—a gorgeous creature with vivaciously ruddy-blond hair and enchantingly black eyes and about 400 years of experience and worldly knowledge on him, laid naked on the red-spattered sheets, blood crusted onto the side of his face and in the corners of his mouth and across his abdomen in smudges just big enough to make the boy shiver at the sight of them._

_He buries himself into the vampire's chest, closing the gap formed between them overnight, letting out a sigh as the vampire combs a hand through his hair. _

_"Did I do enough?" the boy asks, his mouth painfully dry, his head light, and his voice airy and rough. _

_The vampire chuckles dryly, stiltedly, running a thumb against the bloodied wounds on the boy's shoulder, then letting his hand slip down the center of his back and draw circles into his hip. A kiss is planted onto the boy’s forehead, tender and gentle._

_"I may not ever be fully satisfied, but you've done plenty more than enough." _


	4. musings on the hot boy trifecta, and its honorary members

Lee Taeyong is the first person Ten has become enamored with in at least 40 years.

_Lee Taeyong_ is one of the first things that Ten thinks of when the city comes to mind, a perfect young adult in the midst of raucous Wall Street. He laughs like an angel; he speaks like the soft clatter of wind against a tree’s branches; his eyes glitter like the stars and his smile shines likewise. The morning he welcomed Ten into the branch’s marketing sector, his bright purple hair left a strikingly perfect contrast against his milky skin and greyscale striped jacket—and like a lovestruck teenager, Ten sometimes finds himself pondering their own stark yet comfortable contrast, the man’s purple and grey compared to his own red and black.

That's all he can see himself as, sometimes. Just a rowdy, inexperienced teen, left with a little bit more hormone-altered emotion than necessary for human life, taking the first just-out-of-reach hot boy he saw and immediately shoving them into the subject of his puppy crushing for the week. Except, Taeyong has filled that position for a good thirteen days by now. A record in Ten’s book—and a slightly disconcerting one at that.

“Oh-h. Nah, don't think too much about it, that's all you gotta do,” Mark advises him disjointedly, through pauses in-between his trains of thought. “Everyone’s crushed on Tae at some point. It's like... a rite of passage. But everyone moves on, or they get rejected at even the _idea_ of a first date. That—that's what happened to Johnny, like, years ago,” he adds in a snicker. “He’d called me when it happened just to cry about it.”

“Really?” Ten remarks. “Not many of you seem to be the _crush_ type, especially him.”

“Oh, trust me. You'd be surprised. There's, like, the Hot Boy Trifecta—Taeyong, Taeil, and my friend Jackson that works in Team West. People from marketing, telecommunications, _everywhere—_they hang onto every word they say. Coming from someone who, um, went through feelings for probably the whole trifecta at once, it's hilarious to watch everyone make the ex-_act_ same mistakes I did. That's why I told you not to go into the break rooms. It gets dramatic, sometimes.”

Ten stops him there, before the conversation wanders any farther than he meant it to. “Thanks a lot. But, you didn’t have to steer me away from the break rooms like that. Drama’s pretty fun to watch.”

Mark jokingly grimaces. “That’s what _all_ of Hot Boy Trifecta’s followers say.” A loud laugh sounds from one of the cubicle rows—it’s Jaehyun, arm around the sole angel of Ten’s daydreams himself as they chatted. His metaphorical heart skips a beat.

Mark, Ten realizes, is giving him a characteristic _I-told-you-so_ look behind stifled laughter. “Yeah, um. You would _not_ fare well in there.”

☽☆☽

Most people who’ve been around Ten for more than a good 30 minutes know that most of his actions are done out of spite. Which is precisely the reason why, at 12:30 p.m. _sharp_, he wanders straight into the break room, taking in the mess of gossiping women and AirPod-wearing young adults. It was one of Mark's greatest overreactions yet—hell, it's unnervingly peaceful, even.

He sits himself at the nearest empty high-top table and sets his tiny lunch container to the side of his tablet. He opens up his favorite art application to find himself staring at a blank canvas for half a minute. He’s stuck. Even worse, the only inspiration he’s getting is coming straight from a certain purple-haired, doe-eyed coworker—but if he did so, Mark would sense it in the air that his preconceptions were proven right, and Ten didn't feel like giving the boy even more of a chance to mock him. Sooner or later, he’s getting tired of making hearts and strange-looking lines and spirals in the corner of the canvas and he starts drawing simple little skulls from memory, hoping that one of them gives him enough inspiration to make something out of it. One seems almost reminiscent of an album cover he had seen once, somewhere; he paints a teal spiral behind it, appreciating the effect but not exactly getting enough inspiration from the sketch to continue adding details.

“Wow! A businessman _and_ an artist,” chirps a familiarly silver-toned voice, one that felt a little strange without its recognizable business-y tone. Sure enough, Hyunjoon is standing at the edge of the table in all his blue silk and suede glory, connected to the hip to two tall boys standing at either side of him like guard dogs defending a small kitten. It was good to know that he and the boy had a similar taste in men, at least. 

He straightens out his posture again and gives the receptionist a confused look. "You take lunch break on the seventh floor?"

"Hah-hah, yep, sometimes I do," he chuckles. "My friends work up here, though, I have a good reason. But, this is Younghoon—" he points to a somewhat older-looking boy adorned with squarish glasses, side-shaved black hair, and a little golden nose ring, who grins and mouths a quick, soft "Hello." 

"And this is Hoseok." Hoseok, being clearly more confident than Younghoon, gives a beaming smile and reaches out to shake Ten's hand. He’s dressed even classier than the other two, trading in the business casual vibe of the company for a full-on light tan suit jacket, and his hair is a neatly-dyed, neatly-styled chocolate brown. The three of them together are intimidatingly gorgeous, and the _we are genuinely better than most people in this building and we know it_ energy they radiated is stifling. Ten can't help but be a little intimidated, but just to be a masochist, he gestures for them to sit down anyways.

And so the interaction turns into a sweet yet enthusiastic creativity-related conversation over munches on healthy packed lunches and sips from bottled water. But Hoseok, sitting next to Hyunjoon with one leg crossed over the other and his posture as straight as a board, begins to talk about something Renaissance-related in the hopes of connecting his point back to the topic. As soon as the word _tempera_ escapes his mouth, Ten immediately zones out and goes back to scribbling a bed of flowers behind one of the more realistic-looking skulls.

Younghoon takes up the bottle made of orange-tinted plastic he had set on the table (which Ten had guessed was just a weird drink for the boy’s presumed health kick, since he doesn’t have any other food with him) and spins it in his hands for a second, eyes glued to Ten's drawing stylus. Ten takes a break from the flowers and watches on as Hyunjoon gives the boy a look, and the boy nervously glares back, and Hoseok ultimately stops babbling about 19th century art out of courtesy.

"No, no, keep going," Hyunjoon stresses to Hoseok, probably asking more for the noise than for the interesting contents of his spiel—William Blake is the center of the conversation once more, but not exactly the center of focus, judging from how hastily Hoseok finishes his story and throws the conversation completely off-topic: 

"Hey, didn't you say you were getting a cat and then you never told me anything about it?" 

"Oh my god! I didn't show her to you?"

Why did Ten let them sit here, again?

Younghoon pokes Ten on the shoulder. In response, Ten sets his stylus down and listens. 

"Are you... hm. Do you get squeamish around blood?"

Ten's metaphorical heart soars and sinks at the same time. "Quite the opposite.”

Younghoon just smiles back with a look full of anxious relief, and Ten hopes that the boy understands exactly what weight laid behind his words. He flicks open the top of the orange bottle, and immediately the tinny smell of the liquid inside fills Ten's nose. He tries to ignore the headache and the envy as much as he can, keeping his expression steady to not raise suspicion.

The two sitting on the opposite side of the table engage in excited conversation as soon as Hoseok realizes that Hyunjoon had been in Paris the same year he had gone, and Ten realizes that he and Younghoon could also connect pretty well if they tried. But, no matter how supportive either of the boys across from them could be, he isn't sure how much of a good thing revealing himself in a public space is. The very idea of saying it made him feel like the gaze of hundreds of eyes were boring into him.

"You're a vampire, then?" Ten decides to start off the conversation with, more awkward than he'd like to admit. But he almost expected that—how many vampires, or even people less than a close acquaintance, did he have the chance to talk to?

Mouth full of his hemophilic pseudo-beverage, Younghoon gulps as he nods. The effect of the stuff is almost instantaneous. Something shines in his eyes, much more lively than the worn-out nerves that had taken hold of his expression before. "Don't think I'm a crazy old werido, though. I was only bitten around World War One."

"Ah, that's not all that bad," Ten remarks, nearly surprised. It would've made all too much sense for there to be an old painting or two featuring the boy being seduced by a pretty-faced girl in an Autumn flower garden—those poor Renaissance men didn't even have a chance. 

“I suppose, yeah. Not bad at all.” He takes another sip. “You can get your questions out of the way now. Less than five, though, I don’t really... like being interrogated all that much.”

“I understand. But... I guess I have one.” 

Younghoon smiles again. “Okay, then.”

Ten takes his stylus again and drops down the color wheel, changing the color to the one desaturated red he finds himself using at every occasion he can. “How do you live so casually while still being open with drinking blood?” he asks, thinning out the calligraphy pen’s line even farther as it fell from the corner of the skull’s eye down to the molar teeth. A small gap in the line as it, quote-unquote, seeps through the crannies of the teeth, just before it drags down the side of the ivory-white chin and lands in drops onto the petals of a daffodil. Sickeningly edgy, but typical for one of his leaps back into art. “Isn’t it kind of... I don’t know. Intimidating?” 

“Well.” Younghoon takes the question as a challenge, as if it’s the first time he’s heard it. “I’ve existed with the concept for so long—and I’ve had a good support network, so blood-drinking just… doesn’t feel very taboo.” He thinks over his answer for a moment before giving himself an approving nod. “But, in my opinion, I was _very_ lucky. Everyone needs a support network, like I had. Especially humans—and really, vampires aren’t that much different from them.”

Ten hums in agreement. “The issue is where to find them, though,” he thinks out loud.

“One will pop up eventually for you,” Younghoon says back, a hopeful tone in his voice. “They're out there in this city, no matter what you're looking for. I promise you.”

☽☆☽

No matter how close to perfect American mirrors are, Ten’s kind are still not fully opaque, and for someone trying their best to hide their identity as a creature far beyond the age of most citizens of New York, one overly-attentive eye could ruin it all for him. 

That thought strikes him on an otherwise-average Friday afternoon, forcing anxiety into his chest like a wildfire as he sits at the bathroom sinks, fixing his hair in the reflection. The door creaks open behind him, and the nerves make him jump and spin towards the door, dizzying his head like the rush of an accelerated heartbeat.

Oh.

Nevermind. It’s just Taeyong—otherwise known as the guy that Ten had to lie for today when Jaehyun was calling out names because he was asleep at his desk, accidentally typing out an obscenely long string of commas on a Word document. Even after that 30-minute nap, his eyes look sleepy, and it makes Ten wonder if the man got sick over the week.

In a daze, Taeyong starts towards the sinks before looking up at Ten and freezing in his spot, letting the heavy wooden door slam back into its frame. “Ah—“

“Good morning,” Ten jokes back. He sees Taeyong sighing in the mirror—half out of exasperation, half out of relief. “I think Jae forwarded you an e-mail, something about a corporate meeting. You’ll just have to respond to it when you get the chance. Are you feeling okay?”

He gets a half-blank stare in return. “I… guess.” He spins a cosmetic bag in his hands. “Just, I think I caught something from my cousin’s kid.”

Something about it sounds fake. “It looks pretty bad, I hope you get better over the weekend,” is what Ten makes himself say instead. Trying to force truth from mere acquaintances is a useless task, anyways.

Taeyong smiles at him, faintly, before sliding up to a sink and digging through his bag.

The mood is too heavy. Luckily, Ten has perfected the careful art of lightening moods. “Hey, I’ve got a question for you.”

Taeyong thrums his fingers against the counter before looking up. “Hm?”

“Is it true that everyone in this building has, like, a major crush on you?”

“I—” Taeyong laughs at that, covering his mouth with his wrist. “Who told you that?”

“Uh… Mark.”

He laughs again—it’s almost contagious, and Ten has to mentally restrain himself from chuckling back. “I mean—I guess so. Mark pays more attention to that than I do,” he contemplates as he squirts a bit of face wash onto his palm. “But people aren't lining up to ask me out. Honestly, he's probably just saying it because he used to fawn over me when he started working here. Oh, wait. Can I ask you something, too?”

Something inside of Ten fills with complete and unnecessary dread. “Ah, sure.”

“Well. There’s a new café, two streets down from our building.” Ten gives him a nod. “It just opened. On Monday, would you want to go there for lunch with me?”

“Lunch?” Ten repeats just a little too loudly, excitement hitting him like a punch to the gut.

“Yeah! If you weren’t planning on skipping lunch break, I mean, we can—“

“No, that sounds great!” The shock in his voice is nearly cringeworthy. “Thank you!”

“Ah, don’t thank me. I just don't feel like going alone,” Taeyong says meekly. 

Ten almost wants to tell him how he didn’t exactly understand the subtext behind _going to a café with Lee Taeyong during lunch break,_ but it would most likely be another lost cause. “Well, just ask me if you need anything,” he tells him, leaving his spot by the sink and hoping Taeyong’s eyes won’t follow his reflection. 

“See you at the desks."

“Don’t pass out in the bathroom,” Ten teases back. He just barely catches Taeyong’s sigh as he steps back into the hall and strides back towards the northeast cubicles, trying to figure out just how to brag to Mark about his upcoming Monday afternoon.


	5. necessary precaution

Kai sits in a walkway between two shorter buildings, just about a block away from the alley Ten first found him set up in, sitting with a slouch against the two feet or so of concrete wall and draping a towel over his crossed legs. He’s eerily relaxed, even more than he was when Ten met him.

“You look comfortable,” Kai greets with a knowing smile, nodding at Ten’s winter coat. He’s not cold, per se—in fact, it's stiflingly hot within the down padding—but it’s better to conform with the normal at such late hours, rather than looking even more sketchy than usual.

“You do too.” He points to the thin, rolled-up sleeves of Kai’s shirt. “It’s gotta be, like, 30 degrees. Are you sure you’re okay in—?”

“I’ve been out like this in snowstorms, Ten, don’t worry about me.” His voice is light, almost as if he’s talking through laughter. “Come and sit down. You're my only customer today, so I’m trying out a different procedure with you.”

Ten obliges, squishing himself into the corner of the concrete wall. “So that’s why the towel’s there.” Kai gives him a nod. “Why’d you change it? I thought you were being pretty safe already.”

Kai gives him a confused look. “It’s the full moon, this Sunday. I’m sure you know about infectious cycles.” Ten lets out a little _oh-h_. He hadn’t thought about that being the cause of all the aches and lightheadedness and other snazzy types of physical discomfort. Even the idea of full moons had slipped his mind through the weeks. 

“But why even be out here during full moon weeks if you know you’re gonna get hurt?”

“Well.” A nervous look crossed Kai’s face. “I’ve realized that there’s easy ways to avoid it.” He pulls a pocket knife from his front pocket—something blatantly dangerous at close glance, but small enough to look like a mere lipstick tube through the fabric. Something about it makes Ten’s stomach churn. Maybe neither of them are exactly foreign to making or dealing with wounds, but something about the knife made the situation feel even darker than before. “If a vampire doesn’t bite you, venom won’t be injected, so if I just make a cut and let someone suck on it, I’ll be fine.”

“Venom makes that sound way too interesting,” Ten laughs, but Kai gives him a glower strong enough to shut him up.

“As if it’s not? As if someone with infinitely replenishing body cells and the ability to infect people like a _snake_ on a full moon isn’t _interesting_.” Ten watches Kai’s busy hand pop open the blade of the pocket knife and lay the metal flush against the inside of his forearm, right next to a clutter of bite-shaped scars and pinkish marks, talking himself through it with a voice growing steadily more anxious than usual. “Come on, don’t be oblivious. Maybe you’ve lived with it for longer than I can even imagine a life to be, but you have to understand that it’s impressive. You yourself are an impressive guy.”

“I guess, but—“

“Most of you that I meet are wizened to the point that you don’t care about yourselves anymore.” Kai presses his arm against the towel. Ten shuts his eyes, forcing himself to look away as the man slides the tip of the blade into his skin. “You’re blind to the fact you’re impressive because it’s been a part of you for so long. Young—ow—young vampires impress themselves so much. But it becomes… an inability to see the full picture—like, when someone beautiful looks at their reflection enough times, they’ll, um, start to disregard the beauty, focus in on all the flaws.”

He goes quiet for a long moment, his breathing a little heavy. 

Ten feels the man tap on his shoulder. The smell of the cut fills his nose; he lets his eyes open, and sees the thin well of blood running from the top of Kai’s forearm to the crook of his elbow, just nearly enough to overflow the cut. 

“Are you okay?”

Ten gives Kai a half-numb nod in response. “_God_.”

“I know,” Kai says with a smile, holding the towel against his arm as he moves it onto Ten’s lap. “Do you mind me talking? I’m not sure if you get much news.”

“I’d appreciate it, yeah.” A drop of blood falls onto the towel; Ten grimaces, cautiously pressing a finger to Kai’s wrist. “Are you sure that this is okay with—“

“You’re paying for it, it’s okay.” Ten shoots him a wary look. “Don’t give me that. Drink it. It’s sustenance.”

Ten seethes and puts his lips against the wound, resisting the urge to back off when Kai starts tapping his foot nervously. But like drugs too powerful to be even close to legal, the first taste of blood drowns his apologetic thoughts in a wave of mind-numbing adrenaline. 

“Good?” Ten barely regards it, all too absorbed to understand the question or even really remember where he is, but Kai still laughs at his little satisfied grunt. He pulls his phone out and starts a timer. “I may not be the most trustworthy narrator for vampiric events in the city, and then again, neither are most of my customers. But it looks like the shortage is getting worse for everyone. One lady’s been calling it the blood crisis, and y’know, historically, when people start calling things crises you know shit’s getting bad. But local government isn’t giving anything, now, as if they were giving much in the first place. Oh—are you still doing that rare meat thing?” Ten tries to mumble out a _nah_. Kai still seems to get the meaning. “Good. I saw a local article about poor meat quality, so I wouldn’t risk food poisoning unless you really know what you’re doing. Anyways, my prices fluctuate a lot no matter what, but it did feel a little rough for the 15 dollar bump-up. It’s just that I can’t have too many customers without making my doctor worry about my blood pressure, or just… straight-up dying from blood loss, and I know there’s a lot of demand right now because of the crisis. I figured higher prices would help?” A faint nod. Kai starts tapping his foot again, most likely a show of pride. “Yeah, I thought so. The police are cracking down on stuff like this, too—a lot of street dealers I know have been getting arrested, so if they found us out here we’d probably both be in a holding room. But I’ve been cautious. Extremely cautious. It’ll be fine.”

The timer beeps. Kai hurriedly shuts it off and taps the top of Ten’s head. “Let go.”

Ten hums in reply, dropping his hold on Kai’s arm as he swallowed down the last remainder of blood in his mouth. He leans his head back, fighting against dizziness. “Sorry if I bit you.”

“You didn’t,” Kai snorts at him, looking a bit grateful for the concern. “And if you did it wouldn’t have been enough to do anything.” He starts to wrap the towel around the wound; blood soaks through the pale green threads, leaving a telltale scarlet splotch in the center. “I’m sorry you didn’t get enough, I had to cut it short. I had a lot of people who needed me yesterday and—“

“Oh my god, it’s _okay,_ Kai. You’re doing as much as you can.” Kai sighs, baring his teeth in a grimace, before searching through his bag sitting at his side. “If anything, it’s pretty impressive as well.”

“If that’s how you’d wanna think of it.” He takes the bottle of fancy clear solution and wad of cottonballs from one of the pockets, giving his arm a final pat with the towel before soaking the wad in solution and pressing it to the cut—for a second, he tenses, and his foot begins to tap again. “Aside from supernatural things, though, are you doing okay? I never had the chance to ask.”

“Monetarily well, I’m sharing rent with a friend. Nobody’s figured out that much about me. It’s a good thing, though,” Ten adds, addressing Kai’s worried look, “I prefer that over being known as a human-killing creature. But… just, I wonder if you’d… have some advice for something?”

“Depends on what the question is.” Kai moves Ten’s hand onto the cotton wad, making him hold it as he rummages through his bag again for gauze. He finds it and puts the roll on the ground between his half-crossed legs, setting Ten’s hand back onto the cement as he began laying down the bandaging. 

“My coworker that I’ve been, well, falling in love with asked me out on what’s essentially a lunch date, so… it just leaves me to wonder, what if we get into a real, _real_ relationship? Do I hide this crazy glaring fact that I’m a vampire—and how do I even do that, with someone so close? Is he gonna be scared if—when—he figures out?”

“Huh. That's a dramatic way of thinking about it.” Kai leans his head back onto the wall, brows furrowed in thought. “Secrets are never good to keep—unless it’s for the other’s good, and even that can be a fine line. In a relationship, with a secret so major, I'd say to get it out of the way as soon as you can. When the time feels right and the two of you are comfortable sharing things with each other. Humans aren’t that scared of vampires—if he knows you as a good person with strong morals, he’d trust and love you just as much as he would with another human. Alternatively... if you hide that fact from him, he'll figure it out eventually. You can't hide forever. And something hidden always seems to be more important, more nerve-wraking, than something left in the open.” He tears the gauze off from the rest of the roll and tucks the last end in. “Just be honest, as much as you can be. Someone can’t truly love _everything_ about you until they _know_ what that everything encompasses.”

“That's what I was expecting,” Ten sighs. 

“As you should have. Either way, good luck. You’ll have to make a lot of difficult choices, sooner or later.” Silence falls upon them, awkward yet comfortable. Ten watches as Kai rummages through his snack pocket in his bag, taking out mini bags of pretzel twists and throwing one into Ten’s lap. “I’ve been looking for the twisty ones in snack bags for a while. They’re just, I guess, more fun to munch on, huh?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t really contemplate the vivid experience of eating a pretzel twist in my spare time.”

Kai shrugs. “Nobody ever does, I just think it’s a nice touch. Customer service sorta shit.” The snack bag in his hands opens with a _pop_ as he squishes it; he pulls one of the twists out and twirls it in-between his fingers. “When is your date?”

“Monday afternoon, unless he moves it.”

“Oh.” Kai lets a breath seethe out through his teeth. He sets his pretzel back into the bag. “That’s… _very_ soon. Listen, the full moon is gonna be a bitch for you already, and blood has some adverse effects if you go about drinking it as infrequently as you do. With those two things combined, I’d be sure to take things slow for the rest of the week, let alone Monday. I—I’m not saying to cancel, but if you can, try to not work up your anxiety.”

“Sure but, I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Depends on where you are when you decide to black out,” Kai responds flatly. Nervousness sinks like a rock in Ten’s stomach. 

“Whatever you say, then.”

☽☆☽

Halfway down a deserted street lined with tan-brick apartments and tiny tree planters, something rams full-force into Ten’s shoulder, toppling him into the side of a recycling bin. He holds back a shout and forces himself to stay upwards, reaching out for the bin. It slips past his hold, falling onto its side with a hollow, plasticy _thud._

Embarrassment burns hot on his ears. His gaze instinctively scans the neighborhood. He watches the darkened windows and closed doors, finding no movement aside from the swish of tree branches in the breeze and the gentle stir of drapes in some open windows. Relieved enough to let his guard down, he looks behind him, hoping that whoever hit him would still be there for him to yell at.

“What the _fu_—“ The street is completely empty; so is the street beyond, populated with only half-barren trees and long shadows from the orangish steetlamps. And at his feet is some sort of chubby-faced, tawny bat, crumbled up on the sidewalk like a bird that flew too hard into a window. “You…” The creature shifts onto its back, an irritated look on its face. Ten crouches down and smoothes down the mottled fur on its head. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Hun, you don’t see real bats just, fucking flying through the streets of a major city. I don’t care if it’s 2 o’clock, you need to practice somewhere else.”

With one of its wings, the bat shoves Ten’s finger away from its head and flops onto its side. The air seems to grow thin; just as suddenly, there’s a scrappy-looking boy with a comedically oversized trenchcoat and ruffled red hair scowling at him, looking about as threatening as a little fluffy dog barking at him from behind a glass door. 

“A’ight, listen up, dickweed,” the boy snips, striding up to Ten and grabbing him by the shoulder. He’s just a few inches taller than Ten, and just about as tired-looking. But, to Ten’s dismay, his grip is strong, and he doesn’t have any other real option than to just sit and wait for the kid to tire himself out. “I _just_ got the ability to do this. Do you know how excruciating the past, like, 25 years have been for me? I’m still drinking blood out of fuckin’ plastic cups! Let me _live_, dude, grow a pair.”

Ten sighs, struggling against every urge to yell back at the boy. “You’re making yourself stick out too much—“

“No shit! I do that every day! You see this?” He points at his mouth—he had somewhat of an overbite, and the very tips of his stubby, underdeveloped fangs stuck out from under his top lip. Ten shrugs at him, feeling a bit of pity for the guy. “Yeah. You do what you do, I do what I do. I’ve got my reasons. How old are you?” he asks, perking up in a somehow menacing way with the obvious signs of an idea forming in his head. 

“Like, a hundred? I’m not sure.” 

The boy scoffs. “Fuck off, you’re human.” Ten shakes his head, and the boy grabs his jaw and pulls up his top lip. “O—oh.” He backs off, hands behind his back, and Ten ruefully waits for the boy to transform without another word and fly away from any repercussions. “And you’re getting blood? That’s surprising. You reek of the stuff.”

“Thanks?”

“Yeah, don’t take it as a compliment.” The boy avoids Ten’s baffled look and holds his hand out. Ten takes it and shakes it, finalizing their establishment of peace. “I’m Donghyuck. Sorry for hitting you and making you tip over my trash can.”

"Your—" Ten looks back at the can lying forlorn on the pavement. “Oh-h. I’m sorry.” Donghyuck gives him a _don’t worry about it_ sort of shrug. It still doesn't lift the awkward tension between them. “I’m Ten. Good luck with your development, you’re gonna need it.”

“Ah, sweet. Good to know it’ll suck ass,” Donghyuck replies dryly. “See you around?”

“Perhaps.”

“Chill. G’night, old man.” Donghyuck finger-guns him, and the two part ways. 

Ten looks back after taking a few steps down the street to see Donghyuck swing open the door of the building and step into a dimly-lit hallway. He flings himself into the arms of someone wearing a blanket cape-style, who wraps him up in the blanket as well, swinging the two of them around in the doorway as they hugged. The door locks shut as a laugh rings out—a familiar-sounding laugh, too, but Ten decides that it's easier to let it go and get home than to think too hard about it.

_At least the boy's doing well for himself,_ Ten thinks to himself with a smile as he turns the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year guys ♥♥♥  
currently, theres a lot going on for me school-wise so updates (which are already really really slow haha) are gonna be even slower, but thank u all for reading so far! i swear the story is gonna get interesting sometime soon lol so be patient with me


	6. the harvest moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hi!! haven’t updated this baby in a long time, but enjoy the new chapter :)

Jungwoo barges into the apartment with a stack of neatly folded clothes in his arms, all the same silky texture in different shades of cream. “Morning!” he greets, smiling like a pure beam of sunshine.

Ten, who’s only been awake for maybe 20 minutes after his first few hours of sleep in days, gives the boy a wave back and a sleepy grin. Jungwoo’s made himself a familiar presence over the weeks, through Skype calls and constant messages, ever since Ten had volunteered himself up to model for their project; and without a doubt, the boy was welcome.

“_Oh!_” A cup makes a resonant _bonk_ against the counter; Yukhei bursts out from the kitchen and runs to throw his arms around the boy, nearly making the fabrics spill everywhere. Ten hides his laugh behind his coffee mug. “Hey, you’re early! Did you eat anything? Do you want—“

Jungwoo shrugs the boy off of him with relative ease: “Ah-h. I'm good, I'm good, don't worry. Besides, it’s prototype time and prototype time only.” The little pile is plopped onto the couch; all Ten can discern is an obscene amount of ruffles. He picks through the selection, his curiosity pushing away his sleepiness. 

“That's... really pretty,” he grins, taking the first piece that really catches his eye—a fancy-looking blouse with something that tied around the waist, one of those pieces you'd probably see going for crazy amounts of money on high-end fashion sites. 

“Thank you!” Jungwoo flashes a radiant smile. He’s got a sweet aura to him, with his warm voice and bright eyes, complimented by fluffy, pumpkin-colored hair and a giant, nearly-shapeless sweater that he’s somehow able to pull off. “This is probably gonna be a, just, an excruciating time for you, so I’ll apologize now. Before I poke you with a pin.”

“With a lot of pins,” Yukhei corrects from inside the kitchen, already puttering around to get Jungwoo something. “I tried something on for him and one of them left a scab on my arm for days.”

“That was _freshman_ year!” the boy huffs. He turns his attention back to Ten. “I am not gonna give you a scab. Don’t listen to him.”

Ten shrugs. “I’ll just see what happens.” Yukhei snorts at him. He adds, a little quieter, to Jungwoo: “But, I’m really happy to help. Xuxi brags about you being his partner all the time.”

“Pfft! He’s just as good.” Jungwoo sits himself onto the couch arm, crosses one leg over the other, and starts rummaging through his bag. “I mean, his whole sketchbook is all designs with three-quarter sleeves and turtlenecks, but they’re still amazing. Better than the, erm, two pages of my book that it took me to figure out a stupid pair of pants. Which sounds pitiful now that I say it.”

“That seems reasonable enough,” Ten protests. Jungwoo jokingly rolls his eyes. “But what exactly are you going for with your project?” 

The boy lights up. He excitedly pulls his book out of his bag and flips it open to a small folder on the inside cover. All of it’s papers inside—little sketches on ripped printer paper, pretty watercolor-painted concept art, and everything in-between—fall perfectly into Ten's lap. Though there‘s two clearly different styles in the art, the ideas seem to unify like cogs in a machine as the drafts shift into perfect designs and finished concepts, almost like magic.

“We had to make outfits for three situations: casual, formal, and experimental—like something you’d find on a stereotypical runway. But they all have to be tied to a theme. Ours was _Autumn nights,_ and to us, that pretty much _screamed_ dramatic Victorian fashion. So in concept, it’s a lot of dark earthy tones, ruffles, probably a lot of lace... the jacket in the casual outfit is gonna be made of velvet... Things like that.”

“Velvet!” 

“Yeah!” Jungwoo searches through the pile of prototype clothes and picks up something like a blazer, fiddling with the collar of it. “Here. Of course it’s gonna look better with a stiffer fabric, but these are all for sizing, more than anything else. But I think what matters most is that, when you’re trying all this on, you at least _start_ to look like one of those pretty, wistful 1800s poets. It’ll be a good look on you, Ten!” he adds with a beaming grin.

Ten nods, reluctantly agreeing with the boy. Of _course_ it would be; he supposedly looked _pretty nice_ around that time. “Well, I guess that whenever you two are set up, we can start.”

☽☆☽

Ten’s head hurts. Just a little bit. Nothing out of the ordinary when around someone new.

He adjusts his posture a bit, admiring the two students’ skills as Yukhei pins the collar of a blouse with sleeves that hang off the sides of his shoulders and Jungwoo debates with himself over whether or not to add lace at the ends of the cuffed sleeves.

“How does it look?”

“Hmm... really good! Majestic, actually. But it’s also a bit too big on you,” Jungwoo tells him. “You think the buttons on the back are cooler than if they were on the front, right? Unlike _some_ people.” He gives Yukhei a teasing look.

“It’s so impractical, though!”

“_Fashion_ is impractical, Xuxi. Besides, this is one of the fancier ones. It doesn’t really need to make sense. But,” he continues talking to Ten, “there doesn’t need to be that much adjustment. Really, just the collar, the length, nothing surprising. Hey, wait—Xux, what color is this one supposed to be?” 

“Uhh..?” Both of them stand there for a second, thinking; then, as if their brains were completely in sync, they made a break for Jungwoo’s sketchbook, flipping through the pages and whining to each other about how, maybe, they should’ve been a little more organized for their final project. 

Ten watches, the amusement of the situation gradually slipping away as he sways in his spot, lightheaded as he focuses his attention on the strange feeling of nausea beginning to stir in his stomach.

“Oh my g—the _green?_ See, looking at it now, I think that's just gonna be too much.”

“Then what about the tan?”

“The... agh, the _other shirt is tan,_ though...”

The world seems to waver like a dream. He tries to remember anything that could've caused it, but he draws a blank within the growing fog of his memory until he remembers, faintly, Kai telling him something about passing out.

_Oh... shit._

“Hey, am I good to take a break?” The two look up at him, fabric swatches still in hand; through the fog, he notices a hint of worry on Yukhei’s face.

“Of course,” Jungwoo says with a friendly smile. “But hold on, let me help you take it off, there’s a lot of pins in it.”

“Mhm.” Ten can barely register the boy’s words. Jungwoo rushes over and unbuttons the back, carefully pushing it off Ten’s shoulders. Ten, in turn, feverishly pulls the rest of the muslin off, instinctually guarding the scarred side of his neck with his shoulder as he slips back into his t-shirt.

God, what if the makeup slathered on those marks rubbed off? The fear makes the room dare to spin onto its side. He's revealed before he even _thought_ of doing it himself. His horrifying truth’s out, exposed to his closest friend, to this near-stranger carefully folding up the newly-adjusted blouse.

They could _kill_ him, right?

Fuck it. Right now, it doesn’t matter. He can’t care. He just needs water.

_God. What the hell did I do? Is it Jungwoo, or Yukhei—what’s happening?_ Silently, he treads into the kitchen and tries to fill up a glass of water as quickly as possible, downing the thing and feeling a strange sensation of bitter coldness flood his brain; panicked, he fills it again and gulps it. Nothing’s getting better. His tongue feels numb; a sharp pain from the roots of his fangs numbs any sort of thoughts in his head. The light from the window that warms his face is blocked with growing, shifting splotches of black.

“Ten. Are you okay? You look really pale.” 

A big hand falls upon his shoulder, and Ten turns to face Yukhei, tiredness slamming into him like a hammer against his temples. He smiles out of sympathy and falls.

☽☆☽

_Ten’s vision focuses to the dark room. It’s small, almost minuscule, its details blurred and nondescript. The ceiling seems to stretch infinitely above him; a reddish light leaves dim streaks of color on the black tiles. Steam fills his nose, his shrouded eyesight, seeping into his skin like the swell of the earth in a rainstorm and carrying the faintest trace of musk. Stagnant, scorching water laps at the nape of his neck as he lays sprawled out in a bathtub, listening to the muffled flow of water as it endlessly pours in. Indistinctly beautiful music plays from another indistinguishable room, echoing through the walls like the murmur of a thousand voices._

_A hand comes up to his face, rested against his cheek. Ten’s eyes instinctively flutter shut._

_“I can’t let you sit here for too long.” The voice is familiar, full and roughly gentle._

_“Give me a reason,” he mumbles back, barely getting the words past his lips._

_“You’ve already made the water red.”_

_His eyes fly open. Around him is a reddish-pink film, spreading like oil unevenly across the water’s surface. The sting of a wound, long and fresh, flares up along the side of his neck, burning in the heat of the water. “What did I do?” His gaze lands on Taeyong crouched in front of him, purple hair damp and sticking to his forehead and the edges of a white silk shirt dipping into the stained water, watching Ten with a tense, strangely strict look. _

_His words come out slurred: “Taeyong, what...”_

_“Relax.” _

_Steam clouds the room again, fogging up the gloss of the tile walls. Ten goes numb. He sinks back against the ceramic, feeling his chin just barely touch the surface of the water._

_”Good.” Taeyong gives a final brush against the side of Ten’s cheek, slowly running a finger down his chest. His palm settles on top of Ten’s hip, pushing the boy down against the bottom of the tub, and his thumb rubs soothing circles against his skin. Something about it is overwhelming, dizzying; Ten struggles to hold back a whimper._

_Something like amusement dances in Taeyong’s eyes. “I know what you want from me.”_

_The air feels bitterly cold, compared to the steam rising from the bath or the tinge of embarrassment, red on Ten’s cheeks._

_“Then tell me what it is.”_

_Taeyong just smiles at him, letting the rush of running water fill in the silence._

☽☆☽

Ten doesn’t exactly know where he is—all he knows is what there’s something sore in the back of his throat. Something like a cold, or the lump in your throat when holding back tears, or the feeling of not drinking water for a day straight. He tries to ignore it, but it doesn’t work, and he shuffles against soft bedsheets as he coughs, too tired to even bring his arm up to cover it.

“Here, drink.” It sounds like Yukhei. The boy pats him on the head and thrums his nails against a plastic cup.

He reaches out in front of him, shaking out the sleeves of an oversized sweater he can’t remember ever wearing before, and catches his friend’s wrist, grabbing around for the cup and pulling it over to his mouth. He takes a good chug of the water.

It’s not water.

“Agh—_fuck!_” he chokes out, reeling back at the metallic taste singeing his tongue. A spark of energy defogs his brain, and he clambers backwards, batting Yukhei’s hand away as his back slams into the headboard. “What the fuck!”

Yukhei shushes him, genuine worry in his eyes. “No, no. Just, drink it. You need it.”

“And how do you know that?” He takes the cup, looking inside. He’s right; it’s dark red, thickly stained against the sides of the plastic with a sickeningly sweet smell wafting off it. “How did—“

“Shh!” Ten goes silent. Yukhei grimaces as he hesitates, then pulls down the collar of his shirt, showing a clutter of deep, messy scars running from the bottom of his jugular to his collarbone, pale white against his tan skin. A telltale sign of a struggle against a biter.

“I saw yours when I was carrying you in here.” He watches, defeated, as the defensive look on Ten’s face shifts into fear. “I... should’ve told you, too.”

Ten’s mind goes dizzy again. “I... I’m sorry,” he manages to say. Shame tugs at his heart. He downs the rest of the blood, hoping it would break up the conversation.

Yukhei regards his apology with a nod, setting his hands dejectedly at his sides with something clearly on his mind. Ten takes one of his hands and squeezes it, giving the boy a reassuring smile; and although he felt his sentiment was a bit too hollow, Yukhei genuinely smiles back. 

Ten’s attention goes to the rest of his bedroom. The place feels like a liminal space, a slightly-off reenactment of the real world; the thick drapes are closed shut, unlike usual, separating the room from all time and cloaking it in a strange, dusk-like shadow. The hallway is dark, too, and the door is wide open. His bed is a little more neatly-made than before, as if someone had come in to fix it up before laying him down on it. Everything is silent, suspiciously silent, without any cars to disturb the mechanical hum of the heating systems.

And even worse is the completely unrecognizable man standing at the windows, obviously and unapologetically pointing his phone camera at Ten. He’s intimidating yet delicate at the same time, with a slim, perfect face, long cherry-red hair tied up in a loose bun, and pretty hands adorned with just a few too many rings. Thin wings, creamy white and velvety like a moth’s, sat relaxed on his back, poking out from a strategically-placed gap in his dark green blouse. Ten wishes he could regard it as just a trick of the light.

The pinging from the phone stops, and the fae steadies his hold on the phone.

“He’s awake.”

“_Oh—yes, yeah! That’s him!_” says the person on the video call—Ten immediately recognizes the voice as Donghyuck’s and tries to stifle a confused noise. It was unimaginable, thinking of the scruffy little vampire next to the sleek, uncannily supernatural creature eyeing him as if he was a piece of prey. “_I knew he’d show up sooner or later._”

The fae makes a confused look as he shifts the camera away. “How?”

“_I don’t know. He seems like a pretty lucky guy._”

A smile shows up on Yukhei’s face. “You met Hyuck?” he asks Ten.

“Yeah... for a second.”

“_Oh-h, pfft. Come on! Give it some intrigue. Two seconds, at least,_” Donghyuck corrects, characteristically snarky. 

“Thank you, Hyuck,” the fae interrupts, earning a giggle from the kid. “You can go on with your day. I’m sorry for interrupting you and—“

“_Ah! No, don’t apologize, I love helping._” Someone next to Donghyuck laughs—the same sort of laugh as the one from the person waiting for the boy the night before. Thinking back, the two of them were most likely roommates or partners. “_Don’t laugh at me, scrub._” His partner laughs even louder.

“I have to end the call anyways. I think I have a lot of explanations to give.” Ten’s heart drops; even Donghyuck is better than this cold, sociopathic man. He worries, irrationally, that he’ll have a stake through his chest before another word can even leave his mouth. 

“_Hm. Right. Bye, Doie. Buh-bye, Xuxi!_” The fae turns the camera up to point at Yukhei as the boy waves back. “_Good luck._”

The fae smiles and ends the call. The following moment of stuffy silence seems to drag out for years.

“Now can I ask who the hell you are?” Yukhei makes a face at that, but the pleasantness dancing on the fae’s face barely falters.

“Sure. I’m Doyoung.”

“And... what are you? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I suppose it’s not too obvious. I’m the head of the Eastern American Hemetophage Association.” Doyoung relaxes his posture, slips his phone into the back pocket of his trousers, and hops onto the edge of the bed, crossing his legs and settling his wings against the mattress. Something about him still unnerves Ten, no matter how effortlessly calm he makes every word or little movement feel.

“The _what?_”

“It’s just a, um...” Yukhei tries to explain. “I guess, a more moral way to get blood..?”

“No way of getting a sustainable amount of blood to drink is moral in the eyes of the government,” Doyoung counters him bluntly, pushing loose strands of red hair out of his face. “Currently, we’re the _safest_ way.”

“And it’s all... underground?”

“Extremely.” Pride shines in Doyoung’s eyes. “There’s only over two hundred of us in this city, all creatures in need of blood or friends of said creatures. Even less in other areas. It’s close-knit.”

“Fine, but… well… I don't know, maybe it’s just me, but you’re suspicious. Preying on the sick and desperate, selling us some perfect scheme. There’s something behind this, isn’t there,” Ten mumbles. Yukhei drops his head into his hands. “Why are you even trying to sell it to me? What’s in this for you, money? You don’t drink the stuff.”

“I don’t, no, but it’s still vital.” Ten gives him a doubtful look. “Do you know the two faerie courts, by chance?”

“I have... not seen a fae since the 1800’s.”

Doyoung snorts. “We’re very rare. But, I was born into the Unseelie Court. In essence, I thrive off the anguish and confusion of humans. Drawing blood, recently, has begun to take a role in this. Of _course_,” he starts to correct himself, “I do have a moral code. It simply doesn’t involve the ones I don’t trust.”

“So, you kill humans.”

“That’s a very blunt way of putting it.” The smile returns again, sick and wrong and unreasonably charming. “If it interests you, Yukhei can take you with him to our next meeting. Is that satisfactory, Ten?”

Ten, still swarmed with questions, just sighs and nods. “It’s enough for now.”

“Good.”

In the back of his mind, the word strikes up a strange memory. 

As the fae slides off the mattress, his wings disappear into thin air, leaving faint, feathery markings against his back; and like them, the cloud blows away from Ten’s mind.

It was a weird dream—probably a fever dream, probably something so far out of his brain’s control that it took every single subject that haunts him and melded it into the taboo abomination that Ten remembers it as. He almost feels a little guilty for Taeyong, as if his coworker could read his thoughts and dreams from miles away; then, he remembers their lunch at the café tomorrow, and the guilt hurts him even more. 

_ I don’t even know if he likes me, either. Jesus, if I can’t put my damn thoughts straight, then I might as well just forget it—_

Doyoung pulls the curtains back completely, letting light cascade through the bedroom; Ten and Yukhei simultaneously flinch as the light strikes their eyes and the world settles itself into place once again. The atmosphere is left a fuzzy gold as the sun shifts the city into early sunset hours, making the streets look much warmer than they most likely are. 

“No more moping in the dark,” the fae teases, giving a look to Ten. “It's beautiful this evening. Bright, cloudless. Quite a spectacular sky for a viewing of the Harvest Moon, hm?”

The vampire feels dread sit in him again. _Does he usually do this?_ He mouths to Yukhei, and the boy nods with an earnest shrug. 

“I'm gonna go get you both water,” he says, letting go of Ten’s hand, and walks off with the empty, blood-stained cup and the hint of a grin on his face. 

Ten actively keeps his eyes off of Doyoung; the two sit in a strange, uncomfortable quiet, and Ten contemplates about if, in this new situation, he was any more or less fucked than before. 

Doyoung contemplates, breaking the silence: “I suppose I scared you.”

“No shit.”

“There's no reason for that, though, Ten,” he laughs lightheartedly, then laughs even more at the doubtful look on Ten’s face. “Nothing is here to frighten you. Not me, not Yukhei. You know that, right?”

“I know what you mean, but... you're killing.”

“All of us have blood on our hands, in some way. It’s reasonable when you think about it.”

“And… and, you read my mind? You did, didn’t you?” Ten adds even quieter than before, struggling not to sound too aggressive.

“No.” Ten’s head shoots up. “You’re simply very expressive. And besides, I could never do that to anyone. I sympathize with the need to have freedom within your own mind.”

“Do you know how _goddamn confusing_ you are?”

“Did you expect anything different?” Ten thinks for a long second and bitterly shakes his head, securing his position as the loser of a nonexistent argument. Doyoung’s voice seems to grow darker as he continues: “Hm. You know, as your kind likes to say around here, life tends to change drastically alongside the Harvest Moon. And you, my friend, might be the embodiment of that.”

“Well, it makes sense. Things changed a lot, last month,” Ten explains before Doyoung cuts him off.

“Not just that.” The vampire sighs and turns to look at Doyoung, feeling a bit of regret for doing so as he locks onto his serious expression, glazed over like a prophet diving deep into their client's future. “This, right now, is the beginning of something much greater. Not much that you know right now is going to be the same.”

“I... What do you mean by that?”

Doyoung shrugs and gives Ten an honest look. “One can only live within lies before the truth breaks them free.”

The tension in the room disappears as the microwave beeps—of course, Yukhei’s been making popcorn; that’s why he’s been gone for so long. “Is there anything I can do to maybe... find the truth faster?”

Doyoung snorts at him. “Absolutely not. You just need to wait and let the worst of it pass. Take good care of yourself.”

“I guess so,” Ten muses, laying back down as his tired arms holding him up begin to shake. “But what's your _moral reason_ for looking into my future?” 

“Well, obviously, it's not yours to know yet,” Doyoung says simply. 

“But it will be—“

The fae shushes him with a sly grin. “Let me have at least a _little_ fun.” 

_What an absolute dick._ Pretending not to be amused, Ten rolls his eyes and flips onto his stomach, waiting for Yukhei to get back and break up their conversation. Instead, he falls asleep before his friend can even step into the room.


End file.
